What to do with your 'snowed-out' visitors

My sister and her family are in effect ‘snowed in’ to Nairobi, or rather, ‘snowed out’ of England since their flight to London-Heathrow got cancelled indefinitely on Sunday. Apart from a few rather tense phone calls to their workplaces this morning, we are now feeling pretty relaxed; happy to stay at home but last week because our visitors were only going to be here for a short time, we whizzed around all the attractions Karen/Langata had to offer at top speed. With a two and four year old in tow and because of the expense, we had all decided not to bother going away anywhere. My sister said,

‘Everyone in the supermarket is talking loudly about safaris and trips to the coast. Is it really not the done thing to stay at home for Christmas?’

I raised an eyebrow. In fact, Christmas in Nairobi is perfectly lovely, possibly the best holiday of all to spend here. Since it’s summer here, the sun is shining every day. It’s hard for expats to understand the impact a sudden change of temperature has on visitors from Europe who have left cold, icy, dark and grey to warm, sunny, bright, technicolour in a matter of only 9 hours.

What we got up to last week reads like a fairly good précis of kid friendly things you can do without long car journeys involved.

1. Nairobi National Park

We went to the park for the usual picnic. Finding a good site is hard these days since Kingfisher and Baboon cliffs are generally busy (especially on Jamhuri day when we decided to go!). We used to be lucky enough to get the ‘Lone Tree’ picnic site to ourselves for years, but now when you arrive you discover a there’s a more formal arrangement with building work going on (public loos?) and invariably other picnic-ers. Undeterred by company, we plonked down under the shade of a tree and the JKIA flight path and so when we missed the game – we amused ourselves by identifying aircraft.

All was not lost because as we left we spotted a lion and were able to follow her to the smelly carcass she was feasting on. Also saw a pair of rhino, lots of giraffe and the usual impala etc. Our UK visitors left satisfied by their game viewing, albeit with a backdrop of Nairobi’s skyscrapers on the horizon.

2. KWS Safari Walk

We went to the safari walk at about four-thirty in the afternoon. This turned out to be a great tactical move since we were still inside the grounds for feeding time. A keeper showed us the leopard close up by escorting us along the chain link fence and showing us where she was pacing up and down angrily (not sure he was allowed to do this). We later watched the pair of Safari Walk lion eating in their cage. We couldn’t have got any closer, it was actually terrifying for a wimp like me (see previous Mara post) – especially when one of the members of staff started kicking the cage right near the face of the male lion who roared, he was justifiably outraged. At these close quarters, the stench of the lion was very strong. I could imagine what the poor, ill-fated railway workers had to endure when the lions of Tsavo came preying on their tents.


3. Daphne Sheldricks – Elephant Orphanage

I must admit that, though always lovely to see the baby elephants, this as was less of a success. We arrived at a fast trot as we were a few minutes after eleven. An unprepossessing lady met us with the question;

‘how many of there are you?’ (rather than, ‘welcome!’) then proceeded to charge 500 shillings a head for all humans of over three years of age.

We funnelled through the narrow walkway to find around x150 other elephant watchers had already arrived, so we struggled for a position next to the roped off area while slathering on sun cream, taking desperate sips of water and straining to hear what the keeper was saying.

After my two year old niece understandably had a wobbly, I decided to take her with me to ask whether the lady at the entrance had a ‘comments book’.

‘No,’ she answered hesitantly, ‘Why?’

‘Well, I just feel that after paying 3,500 shillings, you could at least provide some shade, or some seating for your visitors? You must have collected a lot of money today and we’re all standing out there in the midday sun, expiring. I’ve been visiting now for eight years and it’s always been the same.’

She said something about the organisation having to pay KWS a monthly fee in order to be able to receive visitors and being prohibited to build structures within the park (although there are various houses and stables for the eles around) so I still feel that Sheldricks could perhaps sling up a temporary shade cloth at eleven o’clock each day and provide a few more benches, (there were two) in order to enhance the experience of their hoards of loyal visitors. It’s quite a hot dusty drive out there in the first place and most people were leaving in their droves before the end of the allocated hour, just because it was too hot to stand out there anymore.

4. The Giraffe Centre

We went to feed the giraffes. While crowded and generally a trip you can’t spin out for much longer than half an hour – we all enjoyed ourselves and looked on incredulous as some tourists were happy to have their faces licked by giraffe. I had hoped to book into the Giraffe Manor for tea for a more refined experience – the house always looks stunning from the distance - but at $35 per head it was prohibitively expensive for a group of nine – so we made do with a round of sodas at 25 bob each instead.

Eating out – Our visitors favourite was definitely Osteria, where we could bring the children but still eat in peace, spinning out a long meal, while the kids were able to run about in the lovely big garden, climb trees and also swim.

In my mind, we only have the Nairobi National Museum and Ice-skating left....

Ocampo named his 6 suspects - but no arrests...yet...

So, the 6 have been outed - but no dramatic or symbolic carting off to the Hague sadly.  Apparently the ICC judges have to decide whether there is enough evidence for a case to be brought.

It is kind of sad the way Kenyan people are so forgiving and generally too nice. It is as if the atrocities of the 2007 election have been erased from the collective memory like a rather unpleasant dream. Rather than bay for the blood of these characters, there’s been not much more than a raised eyebrow locally. Everybody is so used to stories of corruption they are almost anesthetised to it. William Ruto continues in his attempts to get the Kenyan Government to divorce itself from the Rome Statute that states that ICC rulings are valid here. Francis Muthaura took out a full page advert in the local newspapers protesting his innocence. There was some furore over whether he used taxpayers money for this! – let’s not forget that Kenyan politicians do not have to pay tax...

The reaction to US Ambassador’s Wikileaks indiscretion, describing Kenya as a healthy breeding ground for corruption, damningly; that the President and PM have a ‘vested interest’ in failing to curb it, has caused outrage amongst Kenya’s leaders. Raila and Kibaki’s reaction; ‘let’s get him sent home’. You might think that somebody might feel the slightest bit contrite?

Off with their heads... I mean; off to the Hague..

It's been a long time coming, the build up has been immense but finally it looks like the end is in sight.  I am rubbing my hands together with glee.  On 15th December Luis Moreno-Ocampo, ICC prosecutor, will publicly name the six suspects on his secret list, summoning those deemed most responsible for masterminding post election violence in December 2007, to trial at The Hague.

Over the past week or so, there's been a panic in Parliament which is amusing to read about since, normally so assured of their absolute impunity, we are not used to seeing the country leaders having their feathers ruffled. (the new Kenya Anti-Corruption chief, Lumumba, has been doing his best recently though!)

For instance, I heard on the radio this week that various MPs tried to table a motion to state that the ICC is not to recognised by Kenya, and has no jurisdiction here (x55 supported it, the same ones who had voted for external ICC investigations into post-election violence).  There's also been mud slinging.  William Ruto, 2012 hopeful, has outlandishly accused Moreno-Ocampo of manipulating the criminal process in order to scupper the chances of particular candidates who are lined up for running in Kenya's 2012 election.  Ocampo's response; he 'can't concern himself' with possible implications the charges might have on Kenya's 2012 election.  Well said.  He wishes to take a stand against the culture of impunity in Kenya, hopefully making setting an example to the rest of the beleaguered continent.

In an equally paranoid slur, Attorney General Amos Wako said that the USA's sponsoring of youth programs in the country (USA are one of many youth sponsors along with World Bank/EU etc) -is an elaborate plot to get Kenya's empowered youth to stage a coup and topple the Government.

Roll on the 15th anyway.  I'd like a ringside seat.

In the meantime, Wikileaks is causing havoc in diplomatic relations worldwide but particularly between US (ambassador to Kenya - Michael Ranneberger) and Kenya's government leaders.  Plenty of blushes on the US side and a few home truths spilled for Kibaki and Raila Odinga to chew over at leisure.

Christmas Drinks

Christmas Drinks


Christmas is not only about the craft fairs. There are also the drinks parties. But there’s an unspoken technique as to to how you should to handle yourself in these situations and sadly it is one I have yet to master.

Christmas drinks is a great idea. After all, everyone is in a festive mood and throwing ‘drinks’ is a great way of paying back everyone you owe some hospitality to, without having to go the whole hog of a party. As the host, you may also have misplaced faith in the fact that guests will move on to dinner, or off home after an hour or two, however, there are a few of us overexcited individuals who would prefer to interpret the drinks party as tantamount to an all night rave. Having been invited ‘from 6.30pm’, people like me will pitch at eight and expect to be there for the duration and I see that these days, I’m not alone. Expectations are high for groaning buffets and free flowing alcohol until midnight, by which time, sadly, ‘drinks’ guests are finding it difficult to stand up straight.

The moving-on manoeuvre

‘Working’ the drinks party is something that others seem particularly well schooled in. When squished into a standing room only crowd, I find it an enormous relief to see a friendly face and beetle directly over. However, it seems that once I’ve cornered someone, I tend to latch on for too long. After less than ten minutes I find myself on the receiving end of a ‘moving-on’ manoeuvre. People will say;

‘Oh, I was just on my way back to the bar.’

‘Actually, I would really like to talk to that person over there.’ (pointing over my head)

‘I must just say a word to our host.’

‘I’m off to the loo.’

‘I just have to make a quick phone call..’

‘I’m going off to lalalala’ (i.e. inaudible excuse).

The moving-on manoeuvre always comes as a dreadful shock to me. Feeling desperate and also keen to retain my party credibility, I’ll say.

‘Oh, I was also going to lalalalala as well.’ But somehow, coming in with this weakly after the snub does not help.

Trying to ingratiate yourself into a clique.

You’ll see a group of laughing people and for want of company, you’ll stand just behind them for ages hoping they will let you into the circle. Sometimes you get in, only to receive the silent treatment so end up standing there like a lemon. You find yourself desperate enough to interject with a joke but your words fall flat when you realise no one is listenting

The drinks party bore

There will always be one person who is happy to chat to you for ages. They are even more tenacious than you. The only problem is that after half an hour, you are so bored that you are losing the will-to-live and hoping against hope that a good friend, or at the very least your blissfully unaware husband who is propping up the bar, will ‘save’ you at some point.

How to cope with bitings.

This is the trickiest of all. Let’s say you are lucky enough to be having an enjoyable and animated conversation, how many bitings do you eat in front of your fellow guest before they are revolted?

Since I’m normally planning to be at the party for the long haul, I’ll try to eat enough tasty snacks to constitute an entire meal. This works wonders for soaking up the alcohol but the tactic is not for the faint hearted. Eating whilst standing and balancing a drink poses its own problems.

1. First you must quickly size up whether or not the hors d’oeuvre in question can be consumed in one bite. Rather than say ‘no’ to food, you end up wrestling with the thing as it falls out of your mouth then spend the rest of the party with the resultant blob on your sparkly top.

2. If it’s a samosa you will worry; will grease drip down my chin? Will it turn out to be goat meat? Or full of chilli? Help, where’s a paper napkin!

3. How do you eat a meaty kebab in a ladylike fashion without piercing the back of the throat with a skewer. Then, horror, the meat is too chewy. How do I spit the lump into my napkin in a ladylike fashion without anyone seeing?

4. What shall I do with my now sizeable collection of skewers now? Handbag?

5. How on earth shall I conceal my kebab burp mid conversation?

6. Where’s the loo?

Conclusion

Finally the party gets easier, people are willing to listen; they are friendlier (if a little glazed over.) It’s only then that I realise that it’s past midnight and you are about to be the last guest standing. The host’s eyes are boring into you. Time for a sharp exit and a quick fried egg sandwich when you get home. Next morning, there’s back ache from standing for too long and sore head. When will I ever learn?

Hum Drum

‘Why are you so quiet? You are lost.’ I hear you say in the Kenyan fashion – which means ‘where are you?’ ‘Where have you been?’


In fact, nobody has actually expressed an interest as to why I haven’t updated in a week, but I’ll press on nonetheless. The fact is things have a little been busy of late, as is usual for this time of year. Last week I had hoped for a quiet one, but events, as usual, conspired against it.

1. It was my daughter’s birthday party. I was tremendously relaxed about this. She wanted a cinema trip, a mini disco and a sleepover for eight friends. What could be easier? I’d just send out for pizza. It was only when I was faced with the gaggle of seven and eight year old girls that I remembered the noise levels involved. Corralling them inside the cinema was as easy as herding cats. Once watching the film that some of them pointedly told me they had already seen loads of times before, they kept popping to the loo or standing up on their seats, then crashing down and hurting themselves.

Once my husband and I had thankfully got them home, the real fun began. ‘Are you still my friend?’ rang out more than once above the disco music. I sent in our best weapon, our ten year old daughter, to negotiate a truce. One little girl stomped upstairs and said, ‘nobody is playing with me, they are all so mean!’ I suggested a warm bath. Pick up at eleven am the next day could not have come soon enough.

2. My parents-in-law have been staying for nigh on a month. They were no trouble. They went away to the beach for ten days in the middle of it all and were quick to offer to shop for meals and do school runs. The only problem was that I had to fast-track my Christmas shopping so that I could send things back to England with them. This meant a trip to the Masai Market followed by some frantic wrapping up. Nothing like being catapulted into the Christmas spirit. Somehow I am never ready for it.

3. It was my birthday. It wasn’t a big, important birthday, but my birthday nonetheless. Ahead of time, it was with mild irritation that I found I was copied into a group email circulated by my husband to his friends asking who was ‘on’ for a Rhino Charge dinner at the Carnivore on 25th November. This evening in question has, over the years, become one of my pet hates. It’s expensive and boring. I’ve attended many.

This time, I put my foot down (in front of my in-laws – wince!) and said I’d rather stick needles in my eyes than do the Carnivore again – but what to do instead? I thought of a lunch, but after a little ground work I discovered my friends seemed busy with school runs and the like that day, so eventually I settled on suggesting a girls’ night out.

Such a shame that a girls-night-out in Nairobi means that you are actually asking your friends to take their life in their hands, running the gauntlet of highjackers and thieves or certain death, to venture out unaccompanied in order to share a paltry drink on a friend’s birthday. Plus, from my side, there’s the added stress of who, in these circumstances, will actually pitch and, let’s face it, have you really got any friends anyway?

In the end, we were ten and I had a fine old time. The ‘Carnivore’ boys intercepted us at the end and we danced til 1am. Everyone got home safe.

4. The next morning, our five year old had a dance exam. I was never really convinced by this idea but I learned that all her ‘group’ at school were enrolled, so it would almost have been cruel not to have signed her up. The only problem was that my daughter could not have been less interested. She blankly refused to attend weekend rehearsals (my husband dragged her along once and she resolutely sat to one side). I managed to convince her to attend the exam, but only after we had had a huge row about the fact that she would be compelled to wear pink. After struggling her into her leotard and shepherding her over to the ‘hair arranging’ station, wanting to avoid yet another fight, I pretended I had some very important texting to do outside. When I returned, my daughter looked up at me doe eyed. I hardly recognised her. The hair that usually hangs unruly all over her face was scraped back into a high bun. She looked furious.

Parents were not allowed to watch the exam, which was a good thing since that morning, I needed a strong coffee. ‘How did it go?’ I asked when she re-emerged. The ballet teachers also came out of the sacrosanct room, laughing. ‘I fell over.’ My daughter said, deadpan.

5. Sports days. In their wisdom, the older two daughters who are at the same school, have sports days on consecutive Wednesdays, first the juniors then the seniors. Even though it’s rainy season, it’s always a sweltering afternoon in the hot sun and us parents squash up under an inadequate shade of a row of gum trees, either shooting out into open ground with the camera when it is our own darling’s turn to run, or kicking ourselves that we missed the one race our child was in, due to having arrived ten minutes late. To endure this not once but twice, is hard work.

6. The saving grace in all this has been the construction of our entirely and not at all credit crunch friendly, hedonistic swimming pool! (photos to follow). Our garden lawn is now criss-crossed by dirty great trenches intended for power lines (KPLC – where are you?) but the enormous, cemented hole in the ground is beginning to look a little prettier as the tiles are now being laid. After a couple of months, Gladys and Florence have got the morning distribution of tea and bread down to a fine art. To cheer ourselves after a long day, each evening my husband and I take a cup of tea outside so that we can gaze at the hole. We also have an inane chat with the foreman who is probably dying to get home by then. (he must love that!)

After the 6am alarm clock went off this morning, my eldest daughter came in for a snuggle. I was still fast asleep as I’d already had an interrupted night with the youngest who arrived at around three to say she couldn’t wait to open her advent calendar and at four by the middle one who had apparently had a bad dream, but it wasn’t that bad and she was too embarrassed to tell me what happened in it.

Anyway, the eldest arrived saying ‘Mum, I really need a mirror for my dressing table with lots of drawers in it to keep all my things, like the one in that magazine.’

I said drowsily. ‘You are getting a swimming pool you lucky things. Christmas is not just about thinking up all sorts of things that take your fancy. And what about that Nintendo DS that you just HAD to HAD to HAD to have last week?’

Response – big sigh.

‘But Mummy, I don’t want a swimming pool. I want a mirror.’ Grr.